


More than Monsters

by orphan_account



Category: Dexter (TV), Supernatural
Genre: A crossover, after Dexter officially ended, he's about to learn the true meaning of monsters, probably will be violence, this happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dexter has a man on his table, but that man is about to change everything Dexter knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dexter glanced around the plastic wrapped room before staring down at the comatose man strapped to his table. This. This was the only thing he’d brought with him after leaving Miami. His kill suit. It was the only thing that gave his life meaning anymore. The only thing that he needed to remember. The only thing he wanted to remember. If he could forget everything else, he’d be fine again. He’d go back to the hollow that had eaten him long before he’d realized his Dark Passenger was a lie. He’d take the hollow. He’d take the hollow and the lie without remorse or question now that he knew exactly what a normal life had had in store for him. If only he could forget their faces. The faces of the ones he’d left behind.

The ones he’d lost.

The man wrapped in plastic on the table twitched. Dexter’s eyebrow lifted. Fighting the serum, are we? Dexter thought. A national killer. He hadn’t had one on his table since . . . .

Another face. Another face he didn’t need to remember.

Instead of allowing himself to look back on his old life, he continued staring down at the man on the table. The way his fists clenched in his struggle to wake up. No rush, Dexter thought. You’ll awaken when I want you to. Too bad Dexter hadn’t caught his partner, his brother. The brother seemed to be the brain, this one raw muscle and wit. Not that the brother wasn’t as lethal as the man on Dexter’s table. The pair were impressive together, Dexter was certain. They had a third partner. Dexter had learned that that man had left behind a family of his own. Seems he found his place among this crowd. A group of serial killers, traversing across the nation and taking the lives of innocents. Dexter couldn’t find a definitive number of kills they’d made, but he’d found enough to create the wall. Five faces. Five was enough Dexter needed to kill someone. One was enough.

If the brother and the third didn’t respond to this man’s kidnapping, then Dexter would honestly feel disappointed.

With a gloved hand, Dexter pulled a knife free from its slot. Walking over to the man on the table, he patted his face just enough to rouse him. Green eyes shot open and blinked at the light in his face. “Time to wake up, Dean Winchester.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (sorry, Dexter is on my list of things to watch, might've gotten him horribly wrong here)

Dean couldn't remember the kidnapping. There must have been a scuffle at some point, because over a decade in the field meant that Dean didn't go down for just anybody. Something must've caught Sam, and he prayed to God without shame for Cas's return, still clinging to some hope that the guy had at least a little Angel mojo in him. It wasn't likely, but it was worth a shot anyway. Cas had always been his last stand.

The man above him on the table was wearing his finest slasher smile. It wasn't uncommon for folks to look so pleased upon bagging themselves a Winchester, but normally Dean knew who'd caught him. Hell, for that matter, surprise kidnappings had never happened outside of a case before now. He could only hope Sam got some sort of info packet Dean hadn't received, because he couldn't even think of a motive for his red-headed attacker.

Dean was nothing if not a continuous show of bravado, and accordingly the first words out of his mouth after waking were "The hell do you want?"

Dean's attacker tilted his head, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Isn't it obvous?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Dean said conversationally. "I've got quite a long list of people out for my blood. It's difficult, sometimes, to keep the names and faces and motives apart, but I don't remember seeing your ugly mug around before."

The man turned back to his prey, eyebrow raised. "You're awfully chatty for a man who's on his deathbed."

"Then cut to the chase," Dean snapped. "Who sent you? Abbadon? Crowley? Naomi?" The man blinked, but the room was still too dark for Dean to guage a reaction. "Oh come on. How are you supposed to gratutiously torture me if I don't even know what you're out for? Side o'the angels or side o'the devils, which is it?"

The were another slight pause before the man blurted, "What in the _world_ are you talking about?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO APOLOGIES: I'm sorry it took so long (I was slammed with prompts, papers, and shut up Alex), and I'm sorry it's so goddamn short. I'd blame Dexter for having a weird brain, but I can't. I'ma blame me for being weird myself.
> 
> Mostly apologizing to xIrelandx, I'm surprised she hasn't sent me a straw in the mail so that I can suck it up.

Dexter stared down at Dean. Abbadon? Crowley? Who were these people?

Dean Winchester had killed many, but apparently had enough enemies that he suspected Dexter was working for one of them. There was a time where that would’ve made Dexter smile. His smiles had always been slightly broken, even the smiles he’d shared in secret with his victims. Smiles of a monster. There was a time where that would’ve made Dexter cringe. Someone might come looking for him. Someone from the Russian Mafia, but he’d already been down that road and Dean Winchester didn’t have any ties like that as far as he knew. 

And the only people who’d come for him were Dexter’s other two targets.

Straightening up, he gestured to the five women on his mural. “I’m here because these women,” he pointed to each of them, “are dead because of you.” Amy, Jo and Ellen Harvelle, Meg Masters, and Pam. Five women whose lives had come to an abrupt, violent end because of Sam and Dean Winchester.

He watched Dean struggle to see the images, and was pleased to see his face fall at the sight of them. Now that’s the reaction Dexter wanted. Horror.

Or was that guilt? A voice in his head reminded him that psychopaths didn’t feel guilt. He shushed that voice in favor of feeding on Dean’s reaction.

“You’re right,” Dean uttered. Now that’s something Dexter wasn’t used to. Honesty. “They’re dead because of me. And let me tell you why, you sick son of a bitch!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you guys have had to wait so long for an update! I don't have any good excuses - just the typical distraction of new fandoms and schoolwork. Forgive me, please?
> 
> \-- xIrelandx

He waited for his attacker to be taken aback, or surprised, or something at Dean's outburst. It was unsettling, the way the man just stared at him. He blinked calmly. "Alright," he said. "Go on."

Dean licked his lips, shifting uncomfortably against the straps holding him down to the table. "I don't even remember Amy."

That garnered a reaction. Before Dean had time to register anything, the attacker tore a picture from his murder board and shoved it into Dean's face. "Remember now?" he snapped.

Dean looked the picture over carefully. Then, he swallowed the guilt. "Amy. She was a --" he faltered, looking away. He licked his lips quickly, getting ready to lie. "She was a bad person."

"Oh? And what did she do? Shortchange you at the grocery store?"

Dean snorted, a defeated sort of laugh. "Something like that."

The man frowned down at him. "You're lying." He hovered, closer in Dean's face, relishing in the smaller' mans discomfort. "Tell me. Why did you kill her?"

Dean turned his head up to look at the man defiantly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Not just about her, about Amy, but about the rest of them too. Jo, Ellen, Pam, Meg - you're right, it is my fault they died." He swallowed. "But there's more to that damn story than you'd ever believe. And gettin' them killed is the least of my sins." 

Oh, that made him angry. Dean could feel the anger rolling off the other man like sweat. "Try me."

"Amy was a kitsune," Dean said flatly. He was still looking his attacker, the man with the knife, in the eyes. "A type of monster. And if I didn't gank her then, she was going to go out and eat some other poor bastard who didn't deserve it. With her, I was doing my job. The same goes for Meg." He used his head to gesture to the picture on the board - a pretty, demure-looking blonde. "Some punk ass demon took over her body, cut her hair short, turned her into hell on wheels. Literally. I didn't -" His sigh sounded more like a groan, frustrated. Dealing with his own inner demons. "I didn't know how else to get rid of that...thing. Meg's death was an accident. At the time, we didn't know how to prevent it." 

The man was still staring at him, eyes rarely blinking. Dean was sure he had a thousand comebacks to everything he was saying, but he didn't open his mouth. Dean took it as permission to keep on talking.

"Of course, it didn't work. The demon just chose another damn body to inhabit, like they all do. Her, Ruby - even the damn angels do it."

"Angels?" Now that, he had not been expecting. Angels didn't seem to fit this man's persona. Was it schizophrenia that made him believe all of this inane garbage?

"Yeah. And that brings us to Pam." He licked his lips again. "Roll up my left sleeve."

"The hand print on your arm," Dexter said. "I saw it when I was...preparing you." Dean gave him an incredulous look. "I suppose you're going to tell me you were touched by an angel?"

"Damn straight," Dean snapped. "Gripped me tight and raised me from Perdition. I had no idea who this son of a bitch was, so we recruited the help of a psychic -" he nodded to the farthest picture, a pretty woman with brown hair; a second picture, obscured in part by the first, portrayed her as more somber, with a pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes. Dean still felt the guilt over that, swallowing as he looked. "We did a little seance, trying to call the guy out. She heard his name and saw his figure. That's how her eyes got burnt out. Ya can't look at the true form of an angel.

"And then her death..." Dean shook his head. "We weren't there for her, there when it happened. Some mooks came looking for us, found her instead. And she paid the price for the damage we were inflicting."

His attacker shook his head. "I suppose you're going to tell me Jo got eaten by the Loch Ness Monster? Ellen was the victim of a vampire?"

"What? No," Dean blinked. "Nessie's not real. Not - that's not the point," he sighed. "Jo got hit. Fatally injured. She couldn't move on, though we wanted her to." Dean frowned. "And believe me, we wanted her to. Tough as nails, came to be like a little sister to me and Sam -" he bit his tongue. He wasn't going to let any more names slip, wasn't gonna let this sack of shit hunt his brother and his friend.

"Don't worry," his attacker said with a smirk. "I already know all about Sam and Castiel."

"Then you'll know all three of us did what we could," he shouted. "We didn't want Jo to stay there. We didn't want Ellen to set off the bomb. But they wouldn't go. Jo couldn't and Ellen wasn't gonna leave her little girl behind. So they -" he shook his head. "The took care of the hellhounds for us."

His attacker sighed, turning from the table. "You know, Dean winchester, I almost feel sorry for you. Sorry, for how delusional you are." Dean sighed. There really was no point in explaining things to people. "Maybe it's some sort of Post-Traumatic Stress, but believe me," he was glaring down, making his smile all the more menacing. "Before I'm through with you, you will know there are no angels, no demons. The only monsters here are you, and me."


	5. Chapter 5

Dexter went over his tools, searching for the right one for this particular occasion. Dean's words ate at him. He wasn't sure if it was the way he'd spoken of his victims or the way he seemed completely convinced of his delusions. Dexter had to recall that for a long time, he had been convinced there was a voice inside himself telling him that he needed to kill, needed to take a life, needed to rid the world of those seeking to make it a darker, more dangerous place. There came a time when that didn't even matter to him. He just. Needed. To kill.

But Dean sounded downright disturbed by what it was he did. And he named all of his victims. He wasn't careless. He wasn't ruthless. Well, he was ruthless, but not in the way Dexter typically saw in his chosen victims. He truly believed he had to do it.

Just like Dexter.

That annoyed him. That grated on his insides, made him feel. He wasn't supposed to be feeling. There was too much threat in letting emotions rule. Just look at where it had gotten him, these damned emotions of his. 

His shoulders rose and fell rapidly as he tried not to think, tried not to feel. Closing his eyes and breathing harshly through his nose, he felt his hands start shaking as he was failing to select his kill tool. What was stopping him? He couldn't afford to let this man continue as a human being. But even he agreed with that sentiment in his own way. Why didn't that sit well with him?

Maybe it was because every time he had had a willing victim on his table, something devastating had happened to Dexter. He thought specifically of the Trinity killer, the man who'd murdered his wife just before Dexter had gotten his hands on him. Then there was Hannah . . . .

He slammed his fists on the table. No. Not her. He could recall anyone but her. Her and . . . .

He was on the verge of screaming at himself. He was losing control. He couldn't afford to lose control. There was no Dark Passenger to take over for him so he could shove the blame on someone else. There was no Harry in the back of his mind reminding him of the rules. There was no one. No one but him and Dean and the memory of his victims.

Turning away from the table, Dexter demanded, “How do you do it?”

Dean looked up at him incredulously. “Dude, what the hell? How do I do what?”

“How do you continue like this? Telling yourself who deserves what based on the little fantasies you create in your head?” Dexter's words bled anger, and there was a part of him that thought it felt good. He wanted to squelch that part, get back to business. But Dean's words, his explanations, they just. Didn't. Sit right.

Dean let out a long sigh. “Shoo buddy,” he uttered, a certain amount of guilt and dread lingering in his gaze. “I sure wish they were fantasies.”

“But they are!” Dexter declared. He knew this was going no where. He knew he couldn't make someone see things the way he did. He'd tried. Many times. He'd tried and it had gotten so many people killed, so many innocent lives ruined or turned guilty. He couldn't trust anyone. Why was he trying with this man? “It is all in your head. There are no demons or angels, there are no kitsunes or whatever it is you feel like hunting one week or another. They are all people.” He pointed to the pictures on the wall, fist slamming down on the table. “Those were all people until you ended their lives!”

“Yeah, I got that. I'm telling you, I had no choice in many cases. I didn't know—”

“Or didn't want to know, is more like it. There's a part of you that like killing, and you have to accept it.”

“I have!” Dean yelled. Then he quieted, voice turning to a growl, “I accepted that a long time ago. And I do it to protect people. To protect the real psychos like you!”

“From the demons and angels? Well, you're a little late,” Dexter snarled back.

“Yeah. I'm late. Often. There are countless people who can't be saved, but dammit I'm trying! What are you doing with your life?”

“Stopping people like you.”

“You kill me, there will be more blood on your hands than the King of Hell's! Believe me, I've wanted to die often in my life, and I have! I'd love the luxury of being able to stay dead.” Dean paused, then snapped, “You wanna argue philosophy, you take it up with my brother! This shit's right up his damn alley.”

“Oh believe me. I will,” Dexter declared, grabbing this time the correct knife off his table. Lowering his mask, he prepared to stab. Dean stared him down the entire time, and that of all things continued to make him hesitate.

There was a noise that Dexter couldn't quite identify in the distance. Lowering the knife, he looked to where the entrance would be if much of the room weren't covered in plastic wrap and tarp. Squinting, he heard no other noise after the initial one.

Dean's words were almost inaudible, but Dexter caught the tail end of the anyway. “Speak of the devil, here they come.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short and so late oh my god.

"Dean?" He could hear his younger brother calling for him out in the hallway. The was a snap of what Dean could only assume was a trap, and a thud that he figured was Cas pushing Sam out of the way. He could still hear Sam calling for him, but there were deliberate footsteps mixed in as well - Castiel's, coming straight for the room Dean was locked in.

His captor picked out a knife, prepared to defend himself. Dean only shook his head. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he warned.

The man with the knife rolled his eyes. "Why? Is he going to do some sort of voodoo angel magic trick on me?"

"Something like that," Dean mumbled, letting his body relax as Castiel appeared suddenly, a dramatic fluttering of wings sounding off behind him. Dexter raised his knife, poised to stab, but Castiel put his hand on the man's head and knocked him out, ignoring the unconscious body and moving to where Dean lay on the counter. 

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly, checking over Dean's body quickly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean said. "Just help me out of these damn restraints, and then we'll figure out what to do with Norman Bates here."

 


End file.
